


Deduction and Deception

by DefyingPopularity



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-03-31 06:10:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3967369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DefyingPopularity/pseuds/DefyingPopularity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lila Reynolds is an aspiring intern at Scotland Yard, being supervised by Greg Lestrade around the time of the death of Sherlock Holmes. While working one night, she begins to receive texts from a blocked number, the sender claiming to be Sherlock, only to find out that Sherlock has resurfaced only a few days later. (Not a full summary - will update when I update the story).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First attempt at a Sherlock fanfic. Very excited about it still :)

Meeting Sherlock Holmes was one thing; having feelings for him was a whole other situation. At the time I met Sherlock, I was studying abroad in London and working for Scotland Yard under Greg Lestrade. I had came to London not due to the fact that I’m a fan of Sherlock’s work; I wanted to be a cop and I wanted to be part of London’s Scotland Yard. My family couldn’t understand it, but they didn’t stop me from pursuing what I loved and what I knew I wanted to do with my life. It was nearly two years after the Reichenbach case, and Lestrade was solving the cases that he was handed to the best of his abilities. I could tell that he hadn’t been the same after Sherlock’s “death.” I always thought that he blamed himself for the genius’ suicide. He would often ask me for my insight when I was there, and I would play the game of deductions in my head to help him with finding clues. That was something that I had picked up from reading the doctor’s blog. John had often described how Sherlock would merely look at a person and list off the first ten things that he had deduced about them. It was often frightening to some people, but John seemed to find it exhilarating for some reason. I didn’t figure out why until the day I met Sherlock Holmes.

But I’ll get to that in a moment.

Just a few days before Sherlock had revealed himself as alive, I was back at the office at Scotland Yard, storing old case files and pulling new ones for Lestrade. For the most part, that was the extent of my work, since I hadn’t fully graduated from Cambridge or the Academy yet. I was only a few months shy of graduating, and I couldn’t wait to hold that badge in my hand. Just before I went into Lestrade’s office, I could hear him laughing. He never laughed. Ever. I noticed that he was talking to a man and woman, just talking, as if they were reminiscing about times before. I walked in and closed the door as Lestrade regained himself, sighing a bit as he wiped his cheek from some stray tears. As I set the files down, he grabbed my arm and stood up, gesturing towards the couple. I looked up and at that moment, I was happy that I wasn’t holding the files anymore, and I felt my mouth drop open.

I was standing in front of Dr. John Watson, the detective’s blogger. John hadn’t blogged since Sherlock’s death, but I followed the blog since the beginning and studied all of the cases they had solved together until Sherlock died. However, John had changed so much over the two years that the blog had lied dormant. He had aged some, grown a mustache and his blond hair was beginning to gray. He stood up, smiling at me as Lestrade introduced us, reaching out to shake my hand. “You’ll have to forgive Lila, John. She’s surprised to be meeting one of her idols,” Lestrade said as I shook John’s hand. “She was a great fan of your blog.”

“Still a great fan,” I corrected him as the woman stood up, shaking my hand. She was blond and the same height as John, mid-thirties and from the way she smiled, she was with John. Possibly as a wife or girlfriend. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Dr. Watson.”

“Oh, please, call me John,” he said, holding his hand up, then gestured towards the woman. “This is my girlfriend, Mary. Would you like to join us? We were just talking about old times.”

Old times. Which means that you’re rekindling whatever sort of friendship that you once had with Lestrade in order to invite him to some sort of event. I could tell from the moment that John sat down that he was nervous and excited, gently gripping Mary’s small hand to steady himself. As I studied him, John was literally bursting at the seams. Which was a strong indicator that he was preparing to propose to Mary. So why rekindle a friendship with Lestrade, when he was so hard to be friends with in the first place? Because John was going to be in need of a best man, and with Sherlock not being around anymore, Lestrade was probably John’s only male friend. In the hours from the time that I had joined them in the office to the time that John and Mary had left, we had become fast friends and I looked forward to being around them once I finished school. After John and Mary left, I went back to work and was filing more case files in the basement when my phone went off. I pulled it from my pocket, and saw it was a text message. I slid my finger of the screen, opening it. It was from a blocked number.

_Don’t you think you would be of more use somewhere else?_

I looked around the basement and closed the file cabinet that I was working from, looking at the phone. I was sure that I was wearing a puzzled expression on my face because at the moment that I was going to text back, another text message came through.

_There’s no need to look so puzzled; it’s a simple question that you could send a simple reply to._

This caused me to look about my surroundings again, making sure that I was alone before I punched in a code to unblock the number. I didn’t recognize the number that came up, but just as I was about to send a reply, the number came up as blocked again.

_I can’t have you revealing my number to the world, can I?_

I was sick of playing games with this mystery number, so I finally replied with the one reply that you always send when you’re receiving calls or texts from a blocked number.

_Who is this?_

I stood there for a moment and waited for a reply. When a reply didn’t come, I gathered up some files and started to head towards the elevator from the basement to head back up to the floor where Lestrade’s office was, slipping my phone back into my back pocket. As I stood in the silence of the elevator, I began to wonder who could have seen me in the office today that had my mobile number. Lestrade already had it, but he had no reason to play tricks on me. He wasn’t the type of man who enjoyed practical jokes. There really wasn’t anyone else in the office who she associated with and no one that had her number. It was in then that my phone beeped again and it was another text. I pulled it out of my back pocket and slid my finger over the screen to read the text. As my eyes stared at the screen, I suddenly found myself gripping the files tighter.

_Who do you think this is? - SH_

Was this a ghost texting me? Or was this some sort of prank gone wrong? I had read the blog enough to know that was how Sherlock had signed the end of his text messages, but anyone who followed Watson’s blog would have known that in a heartbeat. I stepped off the elevator and looked at the text again, setting the files on a random desk somewhere, moving to the lounge to grab my things. Another text came through just as I was slinging my bag over my shoulder.

_If you think this is a joke, you are right to think so. But I can assure you that a practical joke isn’t the case at the moment. - SH_

_Also, don’t let anyone have your phone. No one knows that I’m alive. - SH_

I stared at my phone for a few moments before walking to the stairs, walking down the flights as quickly as I could while I texted the Ghost back.

_How did you get my number?_

Almost immediately, the Ghost answered me.

_It’s easy if you slip in and out undetected, especially when it’s your professor’s office at Cambridge. - SH_

I stopped mid-flight, finding that I was getting close to the parking garage. I shook my head, telling myself that it couldn’t have been the real Sherlock. Sherlock had been dead for two years. Someone was toying with me. I was sure of it. However, to play his game, I texted him again.

_So how do you know what I looked like in the basement just moments ago?_

_Don’t be boring. There are ways to hack into security systems. - SH_

_How do you know what I look like?_

_Your file was complete, along with the photograph from your student I.D. - SH  
Honestly, you could come up with better questions than that. Your file says that you play my deduction game very well. - SH_

I stopped walking, reading the text carefully. If this was the real Sherlock Holmes, he would know things from my file and had placed it in his mind palace if it was necessary. So why was he texting me?

_Is this some sort of game?_  I asked him, walking down the rest of the flights and to the parking garage.  _The only reason why you would be texting me is because you might see me as someone that you might need in the future.  
However, I’m a woman. And sometimes, women can be too much for just mere company. And I don’t believe that I would be a woman that you would really want around or need, especially when I’m going to be a cop._

Once I got to the parking garage, I walked through and stepped out into the streets of London and hailed a cab, watching my phone for another text. There wasn’t one. There was no other word from the Ghost. I wasn’t sure why he didn’t reply; I had figured that I had scared him off and if it was a prank, then I had outwitted the culprit. It was only a few days after the series of text messages that social media began to go haywire, as did John Watson.

#SherlockLives!


	2. Chapter 2

When Sherlock revealed that he was alive, I was in class, listening to a boring lecture on how forensic evidence is very essential and must be collected very carefully while at a crime scene. The lecture seemed repetitive, and everything that I was hearing I had heard or read before in my textbook. This was a few days after I had met John and Mary, and I was due back in London that evening so I could work the next day. Everyone’s mobile phones went off at the same time, all with the same message of “#SherlockLives!” Gasps and screams of excitement erupted from the class while I just sat there, looking at my screen. My professor had received the same message and dismissed class with some sort of reading assignment. I gathered my things and slipped them easily into my bag, receiving two more text messages just before I walked out of the lecture hall. The first text message was from Mary, asking to meet for coffee if I had time. I quickly texted her back and told her that I would love to, but it wouldn’t be until that evening when I was back in London. Cambridge was at least two hours from London, but since I worked for Scotland Yard, I was exempt from some of my classes, especially when Lestrade signed off on any assignments that I completed while working. Mary soon texted back, saying that was fine and sent me an address to a coffee shop in Westminster. As I went back to my flat, I began to gather my things for another few days in London to catch the mid-afternoon train. As I packed, my phone went off again with another text message. I had realized that I had forgotten to check the second one after I had texted Mary, and now I had two from the same number. It was the Ghost…or rather, Sherlock Holmes.

_I hate to say it, but I told you so. - SH  
_ _Coming back to London anytime soon? - SH_

I had to laugh at the second message, shaking my head. Sherlock Holmes didn’t flirt; at least, not to my knowledge. He didn’t even flirt with The Woman when they were dealing with the Scandal of Belgravia. John didn’t elaborate on the relationship with The Woman, and I don’t think Sherlock wanted him to. As I grabbed my things and train ticket, I began to head out the door, texting Sherlock back.

_Why are you texting me? Surely since you’re alive, you’re around John and Mary. Are you not?_

I slipped my phone into my pocket and hailed a taxi, getting in and requesting the train station as soon as I got comfortable. The familiar ping went off again with Sherlock’s reply and I pulled out my phone, sliding my finger over the screen to read the message.

_John is not particularly happy with me right now. - SH_

Another ping, another text.

_Mary seems to like me though. - SH_

I hid a smirk from the driver as I typed at my keys, laughing to myself at my sarcastic reply.

_What? John wasn’t happy to see you? Surely he knew that you have been alive this whole time._

As I stared at my phone, a reply didn’t come through. I waited for a few minutes, then I realized that my reply was tactless and rude. John didn’t know that Sherlock was alive. He had thought that Sherlock was dead. Recalling the information from John’s last blog entry, John had witnessed Sherlock jumping off of the roof of St. Bart’s, touched his wrist to measure his pulse when the other medical personnel crowded around him and carried him off. Sherlock was declared dead moments later inside the hospital’s emergency room. John later continued in the blog that while Lestrade and the other detectives were on the roof, looking for evidence to Sherlock being murdered, they found the body of James Moriarty, the consulting criminal whom Sherlock had been fighting against months before the crime spree that Moriarty had ensued with the three robberies that he had committed (or attempted to commit) via his mobile phone. Moriarty had apparently died from a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head, entering from his mouth and exiting out the back of his skull. It was a brutal suicide, and dramatic – just as Moriarty was.

At least, that’s what the papers said. There were other theories floating about, such as Sherlock used Moriarty’s body to fake his death, or my personal favorite was him jumping from the building and landing on the jumper’s squad’s landing pad and another body was put there in its place. There was another ping, and Sherlock confirmed my suspicions.

_John thought I was dead. I didn’t tell him otherwise. - SH_

I looked at the screen for a few moments, then another ping sounded and another text came through.

_By the way, the fact that you’re a woman doesn’t matter to me. What matters to me is that you’re almost equivalent to me and my deduction skills. - SH_

I tapped ‘reply’ and sent him another text.

_So why are you texting me?_

Just then, the cab stopped at the station and I paid the driver, getting out and collecting my things, heading to the platform to catch my train. I got onto my car, found my seat and sat next to the window. That was one thing that I found relaxing while sitting on a train for an hour or more; the view passing me by. Another ping went off, and I slid my finger over the screen, reading the text.

_I just said why. - SH_

I lifted my eyebrow, then looked at the previous text, reading it to myself. “You’re almost equivalent to me and my deduction skills.” I began to wonder how long Sherlock had been back in London, or at least, back in the U.K. How could he know all this from my student file at Cambridge unless he was following me. Another ping, another text.

_Following people is boring. I prefer to research and make deductions. You know this. - SH_

I shook my head, looking around the train car from someone, anyone who looked vaguely familiar – someone who looked close enough like Sherlock to be Sherlock if he wanted. But there was no one. It was mostly students, like myself, going to London for the weekend. I tapped 'reply’ again, and sent him another text.

_Are you sure that you’re not having me followed?_

His reply came much more quickly this time, and I could almost hear his voice as if he was speaking to me.

_Now why would I do something like that? - SH_

_I don’t know. It just seems like something that you would do._

_No, that’s something that Mycroft would do, and I’m sure you know that also. - SH  
_ _Enjoy the train ride. - SH_

_Now, how the hell do you know I’m on a train?_

No reply.

_Sherlock? Come on now, you have a reply for everything._

No reply.

I waited for a few minutes, then when I felt the jerk of the train pulling away from the station, I turned the volume down on my phone and got out my textbook, reading up on the homework assignment that I was to complete this weekend while in London.

****Sherlock’s POV****  
I stared at my phone as she prompted an answer back, but I didn’t give her the satisfaction. I figured that I would let her wander a bit. It wasn’t until I got a text from my associate following her that I knew she had tried, or was attempting to try to put it out of her mind.

_She’s reading. Just passing the time._

I stood up from my chair in the study and walked around, texting my associate back and told him to keep tabs on her, watch her wherever she goes. If she wanted to be like the infamous and formerly dead consulting detective, I would have to make sure that I pulled her into my web.

Whatever. Means. Necessary.


	3. Chapter 3

We pulled into Paddington Station just after six in the evening, which gave me plenty of time to get to my hotel room and drop off my things before meeting Mary at the coffee shop in Westminster. I stretched and grabbed my things. As I tried to suppress a quiet yawn, I covered my mouth with the back of my left hand, looking at my phone. I didn’t have any new messages, but I still didn’t feel comfortable with the fact that somehow, Sherlock knew that I was on the train heading to London. I stepped off of the train and hailed a cab, requesting the hotel that I usually stayed in whenever I was in the city. One of the benefits of working for Scotland Yard while going to school in Cambridge, they footed the bills for the room rental. I didn’t need much; just a bed, television, and bathroom and I was fairly content. Oh, and free Wi-Fi was always a plus. I glanced at my phone again, as if I was expecting some sort of sarcastic message from Sherlock. I began to wonder if this was his game – to make me expect things from him and then worry when I never received a text. When my phone pinged unexpectedly, I nearly dropped it on the taxi’s floor, looking at it. It was from Mary.

_Are you in London yet? About to head to Westminster. - M_

I opened the keyboard and began to type.

_Yes, I’m in the city – just stopping off at my hotel first. Meet at 7?_

I sent the reply and waited, my body feeling tired from the long train ride and countless, exhausting hours of lectures and assignments. A nice, large cup of coffee was going to be just the thing I needed to wake me up. Another ping sounded through the cab just as he pulled up to the hotel, stopping at the main doors. I got out after I had paid the driver, grabbing my things and checking in. I checked my phone once I was in the elevator. Mary had replied, saying that was fine and that she would see me then. The elevators stopped at my floor and I stepped off the elevator. I contemplated on texting Sherlock, wondering if he would even reply this time. I shook my head at the thought, tossing my phone on the bed and changing my clothes, grabbing my wallet and phone once I was ready to go again, making sure I had my hotel key with me before I left the room, closing the door behind me. I slipped the key into my pocket and stared at my phone, checking the time, playing with the messages app, trying to keep my mind off of the texts from Sherlock. I wondered why he was texting me, even though he had given me a reason earlier. I pushed my phone into my other pocket as I stepped into the elevator again, going down to the ground floor and hailing another cab. I couldn’t help but feel uneasy, as if I was being watched.

~*~

Once I arrived at the coffee shop in Westminster, I got out of the cab and paid the driver, heading inside. Mary was already there, waiting and reserving a table for us. I went over and joined her, ordering a latte from the waitress once she came over. Mary smiled at me; she was absolutely beaming. Which was a strong indicator that John had proposed to her, and that she had met Sherlock finally, even though she thought she would never meet him, considering that twenty-four hours ago, Sherlock was dead.

“I’m so happy you decided to come out and meet me,” Mary said as she sipped at her coffee, both of us thanking the waitress as she brought my latte. “I’ve been wanting to spend more time with you since we became friends the other day in Lestrade’s office. I have some news.”

“Oh, you do,” I asked, playing it off as if I didn’t suspect anything. That was the one thing that I considered one of my good traits; I was a very good liar.

“Yes! John and I…well, we’re getting married!”

“Congratulations,” I said with a smile, sipping at my latte. I wondered how long her and John were together. I would say at least a year; I don’t believe John would have proposed so soon if he was truly ready to move on.

“And I met Sherlock.”

I nearly spat out my latte. I thought from the text that Sherlock was playing me. I heard the familiar ping and I apologized to Mary, checking my phone for just a moment.

_You thought wrong. - SH_

I pushed the power button and slipped my phone back into my pocket, turning my attention back to Mary. “You met Sherlock? You actually met him? When? He only revealed today that he was alive.”

“It was last night, actually. John and I were at this beautiful restaurant and we were about to order and our waiter was incredibly annoying with a horrid French accent. Well, as it turned out, it was Sherlock.”

“How did John take it?”

“Let’s just say that we got kicked out of the restaurant. Three of them, actually. John didn’t take it well; he beat Sherlock all to hell. Bloody nose, busted lip, tried to choke him a few times. However, I have a feeling that all will turn out all right in the end. I was reading some of the posts online today; everyone is so excited that his back.”

“I am too. I hope to meet him if John and Sherlock can work things out..”

“I’m sure that they will. Sherlock is very nice; didn’t expect everything that happened to him.”

Another ping, another text. “I have to apologize,” I told Mary as I checked my phone again, sliding my finger across the screen to view the text. “I’ve been getting text messages from Lestrade all day. I swear, he would lose his head if it wasn’t attached.”

_Wrong. I was expecting it; just not prepared for that degree of assault. - SH  
_ _And you’re right about Lestrade. - SH_

“It’s perfectly all right,” Mary said pleasantly as she sipped at her coffee, waiting for me to answer the text messages. I looked around before I did, looking for any sign of Sherlock or anyone who was watching us.

_Now what are you up to? Watching the security cameras at the coffee shop? Or are you too shy to come over and say hello?_

I switched my phone off again and slipped it into my pocket, sipping at my latte. “So when’s the wedding,” I asked Mary, who smiled at me.

“It won’t be for at least six months. It won’t take long to plan it out anyway. I don’t have any family and few friends, so this will be mostly for John’s family and friends. I could use some help planning it, if you would like to.”

I smiled happily. “I would love to help you plan the wedding, Mary.”

“Good, but we’re not going to start planning until John and Sherlock make up. Because if I can help it, I’m going to make sure that Sherlock is there, either as the best man or a guest.”

I smiled at her, sipping at my latte again. “If I know any better, I’m sure that Sherlock is going to have John on some sort of case or adventure before the week is out.”

~*~

Mary and I parted ways after each of us had two cups of coffee, and stood outside in the night London air before she was able to get a cab. “Are you sure you don’t want a ride back to your hotel? I wouldn’t mind splitting the fare.”

“No, it’s all right. I think I’m going to walk a little bit, get some air.”

“Well, all right. Be careful, and if you’re curious, Baker Street is that way,” she said, pointing in the direction of where I needed to go. I looked in the direction that she pointed, and back at her, but she was already in the cab and was driving away. I smiled softly and buttoned my jacket, adjusting my scarf and starting to walk. London was dangerous to wander at night, but it wasn’t like I didn’t know where I was going. Mary thought I hadn’t been to Baker Street before. How wrong was she.

I had been to Baker Street before, even though it wasn’t recently. When I had first moved to London, that was the first place that I went. I stood in front of 221B, afraid to even knock. I was sure that Mrs. Hudson, John and Sherlock’s landlady, thought that I was another reporter, looking for my own story. I left and didn’t return. I walked down Baker Street, checking my phone again. I had a new text, from Sherlock and his blocked number.

_I was nowhere near that coffee shop. I was at home. - SH_

I smiled, beginning to type.

_You don’t have to be so shy. It’s not like I’m going to bite or anything._

I turned a corner as a reply came through.

_No, but I’m sure you would be liable to faint. - SH_

_Now, why would I do something like that?_

I walked down the sidewalk, finding that I was nearing 221B, but I was more interested on what was going on with my phone.

_Just seems like something you would do if you met your hero. - SH_

_Who said that you were my hero?_

_No one has to say. It’s obvious. - SH_

_Enlighten me_ , I typed, stopping in front of Speedy’s Sandwich Shop.  _How is it obvious?_

I sent the text, and as soon it was delivered, my phone began to ring. It was the blocked number calling. I tapped ‘answer’ and put the phone up to my ear. “Hello, this is Lila Reynolds.”

“Ah, Miss Reynolds,” Sherlock’s voice rang through the phone. My breath caught in my chest, turning towards 221B and looking up towards to the windows. “I was hoping that I was going to have the privilege of speaking to you. I just didn’t realize it would be this soon.” He wasn’t watching me from the windows, which I was surprised. “I would invite you up, but it’s late, and there’s a cab on its way to pick you up, as you shouldn’t be walking around Westminster this late.”

“Mr. Holmes, I presume,” I replied, still looking up at the windows. “I assume you know where I am if you are calling me.”

“Of course I do. Don’t be boring. And no, I won’t be coming to the windows. You should know better than that.”

I smirked. “Fair enough, Mr. Holmes.”

“To answer your question, it is obvious that I’m your hero because you have followed somewhat in my footsteps, although I wouldn’t have been gauche enough to actually want to join Scotland Yard. But I understand that everyone needs their own career; my career happens to be consulting detective.”

“Yes, but you’re not paid by Scotland Yard.”

“No, but I do have clients that pay me, and Mrs. Hudson loves me enough that my rent is not that much.”

“Mr. Holmes, there are only so many clients in the world. Does your brother pay you when he requests help?”

“He does, but I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“Why are you contacting me? And why did you call me a taxi? I would have gotten one on my own.”

“Oh, believe me, Miss Reynolds, I’m aware. I’m calling you because I know you’re becoming anxious for not meeting me.”

“I’m not anxious.”

“Oh, please, you are too – I can hear it in your voice. Don’t argue with me; your taxi is less than two minutes away. You will meet me before too long. Lestrade is going to call me tomorrow because he’s stumped on a case. Apparently, all of Scotland Yard is stumped on this one.”

“Lestrade doesn’t have any cases right now,” I replied, looking around and watching for the taxi. “At least, he doesn’t have any that I know of.”

“You took him a file three days ago that involved a skeleton, did you not?”

I was quiet for a moment. “You have eyes everywhere, Mr. Holmes.”

“That’s what you think. Anyway, Lestrade is going to ask you for your help with this case, and if you’re lucky, you’ll be able to meet me. Just hope that you’re not swamped with homework from Cambridge.”

Just as the taxi pulled up, the line went dead and I lowered my phone from my ear, looking at the screen. I shook my head and got into the cab, giving the address to my hotel. After that conversation, I could use a good night’s rest.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day, I went to work like normal, bringing in an extra coffee for Lestrade and setting it on his desk. He wasn’t in his office at the time, so I grabbed some the case files that he had in the out folder and started refiling them. The entire office was buzzing over the news that Sherlock was alive, and even though I hadn’t seen Lestrade yet, I was sure that Sherlock had made himself known to him long before the news reports and social media went haywire. I wasn’t going to lie to myself; I felt bored just looking through old case files and filing paperwork. Sherlock was right when he sent the first message. I did feel like I could have been of use doing something else, but without my badge, I couldn’t do anything. Not only that, but I didn’t get much sleep the night before. I kept reading through the text messages from Sherlock and replaying the phone call in my head. Something didn’t seem right about this whole situation, but if I was going to meet him, I wanted to be able to impress him. I read through all of my homework assignments and only slept for about two hours before I had to get up and get ready for work. This was going to be an interesting day. When I felt someone tap me on the shoulder, I nearly jumped out my skin, turning around and seeing Lestrade. I put my hand over my chest, sighing softly. “Sorry about that,” I told him, looking up at him.

“A bit jumpy, are we,” he asked, sipping at his coffee that I had gotten him as he looked at me, raising an eyebrow.

“Not a lot of sleep and did homework all night,” I replied, pushing my hair back and closing the filing cabinet. “What’s up?”

“I was just wondering if you wanted to ride along with me today,” he said, walking to his office. I followed behind, holding some files. “I know that you’ve been working hard, so I figured that you could use a break from the office.”

“You’re in an oddly good mood,” I said, sitting in the chair in front of his desk. “Are you happy that Sherlock is back?”

His eyes widened, looking at me. “How did –?”

“Simple. Your smoke breaks have dwindled down considerably, which means that Sherlock made himself known to you long before the media outbreak. You missed him, didn’t you?”

“Of course I missed Sherlock. He was my friend, and after he…well, when I thought that he had died, I had wished that Anderson hadn’t convinced me that he was the one who was involved in all of the Moriarty bullshit. I won’t lie; I hugged him when I saw him…after I called him a bastard.”

“Which couldn’t have been avoided considering that he faked his death. It needed to be done.”

Lestrade nodded in agreement. “So are you up for it today?”

“I am. Thanks for inviting me along.”

“You’re welcome, Lila. Now, finish doing what you need to do. We’ll leave in an hour.”

I nodded, setting the files down on his desk and left the office. I didn’t know what after I left the office that Lestrade had called Sherlock and asked him to meet us at the crime scene. I finished my work and an hour later, I met Lestrade in his office and with that, we headed down to his car and to the crime scene. He handed me the file for me to study while he drove. I read through the information; no witnesses, skeletal remains found in a basement of a flat perfectly preserved, no evidence of how it got there or cause of death. “I’ll be able to get a better idea of the case once I get to crime scene, Lestrade,” I said to him as he turned a corner, pulling up to the building where we needed to be. “Not a lot of information in the file.” I closed the file and looked up, my eyes widening slightly as I saw two people standing outside, waiting for us. One was a woman, her light brown hair pulled back into a ponytail and carrying quite a few things along with wearing a heavy coat and scarf since it was chilly outside for November in London. I recognized her as Molly Hooper, the medical examiner at St. Bart’s who helped Sherlock with a few of his cases. I had met her a few times when Lestrade took me to the morgue to study some bodies for one of my courses. The other was Sherlock Holmes. I found myself more dumbstruck than I was when I had met John and Mary for the first time. He was much taller in person, and compared to my height of 5'7, I knew that my head would only hit at about his neck or mid-chest. Lestrade parked the car and got out first, moving to open my door. I stepped out and Molly smiled at me, and it was then I got to see Sherlock fully. I noticed that he was dressed nicely, and wearing his signature blue scarf and coat. I found myself swallowing a bit, as if I was trying to get rid of a lump that had suddenly settled.

“It’s about time you got here,” Sherlock said to Lestrade, looking over at him, at first not acknowledging that I was there.

“We had some things to do,” Lestrade replied, heading towards the door as I stayed planted, looking at Molly and Sherlock. Molly turned into follow Lestrade, and Sherlock finally looked at me, his blue eyes glistening a bit. I knew from the way that he was looking at me that he was making deductions, just as I was doing the same to him. His hair had been recently cut to its original length at the time of his death. Clean shaven – had a wash that morning, but prior to that, someone had shaved him with a straight razor. His hands were in his pockets, his right hand grazing over his phone. I could see the slight movements of his fingers twirling his phone around in his pocket. “Oh, by the way, this is…well, I guess she’s my intern. Lila Reynolds,” Lestrade introduced before heading inside, followed by Molly.

“Miss Reynolds,” Sherlock said, removing his right hand from his pocket and holding it out for me to shake. I did the same, meeting his hand with my left, shaking lightly.

“Mr. Holmes,” I greeted, pulling my hand away and moving to head inside before him.

“Now, how did you know who I was?”

“It’s obvious,” I said, biting back a smirk as we waited for Lestrade to pull off the crime scene tape from the door.

“Oh, is it,” Sherlock fired back, and Lestrade turned around, throwing a glare at Sherlock.

“Be nice, you bugger. It’s her first time out in the field.”

“Oh, well then, this should be an enlightening experience.”

I threw a glance at Sherlock and Molly just smiled at me. I could see it from the corner of my eye. “This one has us all baffled,” Lestrade told Sherlock, opening the door and leading us down to a dark basement.

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” Sherlock replied stepping in before Molly and I. I allowed Molly to follow behind Sherlock, and I followed behind her. Lestrade stepped into the basement first and turned on what light sources they had, revealing a skeleton sitting at a desk, covered in dust and holding a pen in its right hand. I handed Lestrade the file, taking off my coat and handing it to him as well.

“Lila, what are you doing,” Lestrade asked, looking at me with wide eyes, following Sherlock over to the desk. Sherlock just laughed to himself, shaking his head at me.

“Looks like the American wants to play Deductions, Lestrade,” Sherlock said, pulling his gloves on so he wouldn’t disturb the evidence. “Let her see what she comes up with. I’ll be working right behind her.”

I slipped some earplugs into my ear to drown out the noises. I didn’t want any distractions; this was my chance to impress the great Sherlock Holmes, as well as Lestrade. I examined the skeleton first, looking over at the Victorian coat it was wearing. I sniffed at the fabric as Sherlock began to examine the left side of the corpse, his eyes fixed on the task at hand. I caught the scent of cedar and smoke; upon further examination, I found that the coat had been damaged in a fire, but was mostly in tact. It was also faded, and judging from the fading pattern, it had been on display facing southeast. I also caught the faint scent of mothballs. Something about this scene wasn’t right; it was as if it was a set of a horror movie. I looked at the desk , noticing the pile of dust. I waited until Sherlock has rose up and blew some of the dust, noticing that some of it had went down into a crack and I hid a smirk, knowing that there was a secret compartment on the right side of the desk. I looked up at Sherlock and I could see that he was muttering to himself and I used the opportunity to make more deductions about him. He was thinking about John, who was still angry at him, and he was muttering at John’s voice in his head and I laughed to myself, taking my earplugs out. Molly moved in after I was done.

“Male, mid-forties to fifty years old…” Molly deduced, looking at the corpse as Sherlock moved around. He had noticed some of the dust flying about. “Amazing…this skeleton is no more than –”

“Six months old,” Sherlock, myself and Molly all said in unison. With that, Sherlock has found the secret compartment and pulled out a book, blowing the dust off of it and grinning like a schoolboy, throwing the book on the desk.

“'How I Did It by Jack the Ripper,” Lestrade read, looking up at Sherlock and Molly. “Amazing.”

“Yes, it is.”

“It’s a shame that it’s fake,” I said, my arms folded over my chest as I looked at the trio. Molly and Lestrade stopped, looking up at me as Sherlock pulled out his phone, looking something up.

“What? How do you know?”

“It’s simple,” Sherlock said, walking over towards me. “The scene is staged. The skeleton is dressed in a Victorian coat, as if to give off the suspicion that it was Jack the Ripper.”

“However, the coat was properly cared for with the exception of the fading fabric, which judging from its fading pattern was facing southeast, and it was damaged in a fire.”

“And sold in a fire sale a week ago,” Sherlock said, showing me his phone before everyone else, the same exact coat on display. “It was a nice attempt though,” he said, slipping his phone back into his pocket and heading towards the door.

“But why would someone go through all of that trouble,” Molly asked, still looking puzzled as Sherlock left the room.

“Why indeed, John,” he replied, his footsteps heading up the stairs.

“Because they’re trying to get your attention, Mr. Holmes,” I shouted after him, taking my coat from Lestrade. Sherlock stopped, and came back down the stairs, walking towards me. He towered over me as he looked down at me, wondering how I had came to that theory.

“Explain.”

“Think about it, Mr. Holmes. The scene is staged, poorly but not so poorly that the person didn’t know what they were doing. The Jack the Ripper book and theme? Why not use one of London’s greatest mysteries for you to discover and solve less than two days that you have resurfaced? No, this is someone who wanted to get your attention, Mr. Holmes. This someone was someone that you worked with before – possibly before your “death.” I would look at a former cop, possibly one who became a fan of yours after you died. Only a cop or a person who worked in films could know how to set this scene up the way that they did.”

Lestrade and Molly stood there, mouths gaped open as I gave Sherlock hints as to the person who was responsible for the staged scene. Sherlock was staring at me, still making deductions. I pulled my coat on and buttoned it, still looking up at him. “Any idea who?”

“Of course I have an idea, but I can’t give you all of my deductions, can I, Mr. Holmes?” I turned to Lestrade, fixing my scarf. “I’ll be out in the car.” I headed up the stairs and Sherlock followed behind. I figured that he wanted to pick my brain a bit more, but he didn’t say another word. I got into the car, and Lestrade soon followed, getting into the driver’s side. He looked over at me, still in shock.

“I have to say that I’ve never met anyone who has rendered Sherlock speechless, but I think you came fairly close to doing that today, Lila.”

“I wasn’t trying to render him speechless, Lestrade. I was trying to show my skills of what it will take to make detective someday.”

“Well, if you keep what you did up, you’ll be a better consulting detective than Sherlock is.”

I smiled to myself as Lestrade started the car, pulling away from the building and heading back towards Scotland Yard. I found that I couldn’t wait to see if Sherlock would send me another text after he figured out who was the person that staged the scene. However, I was almost certain that I hadn’t seen the last of Sherlock Holmes on a professional level.


	5. Chapter 5

Later that afternoon, I was back at my hotel room, reviewing some the case photos from some of Lestrade’s cases, sipping at my coffee. I had the television on one of the news channels, listening to the report of the new anti-terrorism bill that was due to be passed tomorrow night in Parliament. I put the photos down and stood up, pacing the room as I watched the television, listening to the report. I turned the television off, reaching into my bag and pulling out my Criminology textbooks so I could read and get caught up on my assignments before work in the morning. That’s when my cell phone began to ring. I picked it up, seeing the blocked number on the screen. I slid my thumb across the screen to answer the call, putting my phone up to my ear. “Hello, Mr. Holmes.”

 “Miss Reynolds, I have to say that I found your company to be quite stimulating this afternoon. Lestrade was right; you are similar to me, but not the exact same. There is only one Sherlock Holmes, as you know.”

 “Hmm. I’m sure that’s not why you’re calling me, Mr. Holmes,” I replied, picking up purse and packing it. I could tell from the sound on the other end that he was eating, and he was eating fish and chips. “So what do you need?”

 “I was wondering if you would like to come to my place and discuss the staged scene a bit more. Now don’t jump up and down for joy; I know that you’re going to happily accept and you’ll be here in an hour. See you then.”

 I sighed as the line went dead and I slipped her phone her purse, slinging it across my body quickly and getting her coat, pulling it on. I made sure that I had my hotel room key before I left my room, taking the stairs to make a quicker descent down to the ground floor of the hotel. I crossed the lobby and noticed that there were a lot of people in the restaurant, and most of them had their attention on the television screens as the reports about the anti-terrorism bill continued to flood the airwaves. I stepped outside into the chilly night air of London and hailed for a taxi, telling him the address for Sherlock’s apartment. The driver smiled at me in the mirror as I checked my phone, looking through an email from my professor about an extension on my assignment when the taxi driver spoke to me.

 “Got a case for good ol’ Sherlock, eh,” he asked, keeping his eyes on the road as he drove to Westminster. “He’s a good lad. Very smart. He’ll be able to help you.”

 “Thanks, but I’m not going there because I have a case. We worked on a case earlier today, and he wants to discuss it with me.”

 “Hmm. Didn’t think he was into women.”

 I laughed, looking up from my phone. “I am not interested in Sherlock Holmes. Well, I’m more interested in his methods and his mind. I’ve only known the man for a few days.”

 The driver shrugged, and didn’t say anything more for the rest of the drive.

 He pulled up to Speedy’s and 221B Baker Street thirty minutes after we left the hotel. I paid him and got out, walking up to the door and knocking gently. I slipped my hands in my pockets, looking around to see if anyone near the area that seemed suspicious. I heard the lock click over and the doorknob turning, and Mrs. Hudson slowly pulled the door open, smiling at me. She looked just like I had imagined. The petite, middle-aged woman was slender and not at all frail for her age, and her smile could warm you without her even welcoming you into her home. “Hello, dear. You must be the detective,” she said excitedly, stepping aside so I could come in. I unbuttoned my coat at the bottom of the stairs, smiling at her. “He’s been expecting you.”

 “And she’s thirty minutes early,” he called from upstairs. I could hear him pacing about the study, and from the sound of his muffled voice, he was still eating. Mrs. Hudson shook my hand before I had a chance to introduce myself, and led me upstairs.

 “You’ll have to excuse him. He’s a bit pushy.”

 “It’s quite all right, Mrs. Hudson,” I replied, my hand gliding along the bannister as I followed her upstairs. “I already got quite an earful today.”

 She smiled at me as she led me into the study. I couldn’t help but smile as I stood there, taking it all in as I looked around. The walls were still the same as John had described them in his blog, the wall where the couch was covered in photographs, maps and schedules of the people that he had photographs of. I turned and viewed the desk, seeing that it was still cluttered and dust had gathered. Sherlock obviously hadn’t taken the time to clean. “You’ll have to excuse the mess also, dear,” she said before turning to head back down stairs. “I’ll bring you up a pot of tea!”

 “That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock called as he came out of the kitchen, eating a piece of fish as he walked across to the fireplace mantle, setting the basket down and turning towards me. “She won’t be staying long!”

 “Nonsense! She’s a guest, and I’m making tea!”

 He sighed and shook his head, directing me to sit down in one of the chairs. I crossed the room and sat in the chair to the left of the fireplace, which was John’s chair, sitting back a little as he looked me over. He picked up another piece of fish and ate before he sat down, setting his arms on the armrest and crossing his legs, still staring at me. For a while, we just looked at each other, making deductions from what we didn’t see this afternoon. “I can’t tell her to not to do anything. She’ll do it anyway. Now, let’s talk about that crime scene, shall we?”

 “Of course,” I replied, sitting back, resting my arms on the armrest to mirror him, with the exception of not crossing my legs. “What did you want to talk about?”

 “You said that the scene was staged by someone who was trying to get my attention. Who do you believe would be trying to get my attention now that I’m back from the dead?”

 “Well, you did have lots of fans, Mr. Holmes. It’s hard to narrow it down between so many.”

 “So go into your mind palace and tell me what you noticed from the scene.” When I looked at him questioningly, he smirked, putting his hands together in his infamous thinking position, staring at me. He was reading me. “I know you have a mind palace, Miss Reynolds. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be a gifted intern that Lestrade wanted to wave under my nose.”

 I smiled softly and closed my eyes, going into my mind palace and replaying the afternoon in my mind. The staged skeleton wan indeed a six month old skeleton, but it wasn’t a normal skeleton that would have been found at a crime scene. It was clean, as if it was used in a classroom for medical studies or in a doctor’s office. The Jack the Ripper book was the obvious giveaway that the scene was staged. How else would someone get Sherlock’s attention? I opened my eyes as I left my mind palace, looking at Sherlock.

 “The skeleton is not one from a grave; it’s one from a classroom,” I told him, drumming my fingers on the arm of the chair. “Also, the book was the giveaway that the scene was staged.”

 “How else were they to grab my attention?”

 “This person knew what they were doing. They had worked on crime scenes before.”

 “You have worked on crime scenes before. It would be the perfect way to get my attention if I had made such a discovery, wouldn’t it, Miss Reynolds?”

 “Yes, but I wouldn’t have staged the scene because before today, I didn’t know it had existed because it wasn’t on the books. And I have only seen photos; before today, I was never out in the field. You could say that Dr. Watson set up the scene as well.”

 “John was working in his office all day, and so was Mary. So what else do you have?”

 “Lestrade and I didn’t leave the office all day, and you and Molly had been to other places as you were called to the cases that people thought they had.”

 “How did you --?”

 “You had a scuff on the outside of your shoe, which is a sign that you have been walking quite a bit today for long periods of time with Molly.” I noticed that a vein twitched in his temple and I raised my eyebrow. “You found out some new information about Molly today, didn’t you? Possibly a new boyfriend? No – an engagement.” The vein twitched more as he folded his hands together, looking at me.”

 “We are talking about the case at hand, Miss Reynolds, not about Miss Hooper. Continue, please.”

 “Of course. As I said, it’s someone who was very, very good at what he does. No, did. He’s not on the force anymore, is he?”

 “No, he’s not.”

 “It’s someone that felt guilty for your death. He believed that he caused it at one point, probably up to the point of your resurrection a couple of days ago. I never met him, but he is an acquaintance of Lestrade, and a former employee of the force, who absolutely loathed you. That leaves two people, and I doubt that she would do it because she dropped all notice of you from the day of your funeral. So that leaves one person.”

 “Anderson?”

 “Anderson.”

 He chuckled, shaking his head, his smile wide as he put his hands on his chair, pushing himself up. “Anderson…yes, I could never work with him. I always believed that he was less than competent.”

 “He was less than competent, but he’s more than competent when it comes to the conspiracy theories about your death,” I said, getting up from my chair and going towards the wall, looking at it. I studied the photos and documents for a while, and I noticed that I could hear munching again. Sherlock was finishing his dinner. “What kind of case are you working on with this?”

 “Top secret – no one can know,” he replied as he ate. I could tell that he was watching me as I looked over the documents and maps; I was storing them in my mind palace.

 “And who am I going to tell? Do you really think that an intern from Scotland Yard is dangerous?”

 Just then, there was a rapid knocking at the door downstairs. Sherlock crossed the room as Mrs. Hudson opened the door, and Mary’s voice was coming from downstairs. “Oh, Mrs. Hudson, I’m sorry to intrude, but I think someone’s got John.” Sherlock dropped the basket of food and headed for the stairs and I followed him, listening as Mary explained to Mrs. Hudson quickly that she was John’s fiancée and she came up the stairs.

 “Mary, what’s wrong,” he asked her, looking down at her.

 “I was walking home and I got this message. At first, I thought that it was a Bible thing, you know, like spam, but it’s not. It’s a skip code.”

 I watched as Sherlock read over the message, hearing him mutter the words to himself. “Save…John Watson…St. James…the Less…now.” Sherlock grabbed his coat and scarf quickly and descended the stairs with Mary following closely behind. I followed them as well, standing at the door of 221B as Sherlock looked around, his face showing panic as he used his mind palace to review the route to St. James the Less.

 “Sherlock, should I call Lestrade,” I yelled as I watched him stand in the street and bring a motorcycle to a complete halt, having them get off of it quickly.

 “No! Don’t call anyone! We’ll be fine!”

 “I can help you! At least let me call him!”

 Sherlock and Mary quickly pulled the helmets on and mounted the motorcycle, speeding down Baker Street and out of the sight. I sighed, going back inside for a moment. Mrs. Hudson was standing there with her arms crossed, shaking her head.

 “I’m sorry that we didn’t get to have that tea,” I told her, feeling my pockets for my phone.

 “Oh, it’s quite all right, dear,” she replied, smiling at me as she watched me. “Is something wrong?”

 “Yes, I can’t seem to find my phone. Do you mind if I go back up and look for it?”

 “Oh, no, dear, go right ahead. Just let yourself out when you leave.”

 I nodded and walked up the stairs quickly, glancing around the study until I was sure that she hadn’t followed me up. I checked the stairway again before going over to the couch and pulling my phone out of my purse, opening the camera app and taking pictures of Sherlock’s wall. I wanted to be sure I got every document so that I could study it later. I had already deduced what sort of top-secret case it was while I was looking at the schedules that were on the wall. A possible terrorist attack. I knew that if I had at least had the photos that I would be able to deduce some more information that Sherlock may not have. I took what I needed and left 221B quietly, closing the door behind me. I hailed another taxi and went back to my hotel, scrolling through the pictures during the drive.


End file.
